“Because you are so changed, Pluma,” he said. “I shall never perhaps know the cause of your strange manner toward me, but I shall always feel sure it is something which concerns myself. You look at me as though you were questioning me,” he said. “I wish you would tell me what is on your mind?”
“I do not suppose it could make the least difference,” she answered, passionately. “Yes, I will tell you, what you must have been blind not to notice long ago. Have you not noticed how every one watches us with a peculiar smile on their lips as we come among them; and how their voices sink to a whisper lest we should overhear what they say? What is commented upon by my very guests, and the people all about us? Listen, then, it is this: Rex Lyon does not love the woman he has asked to be his wife. The frosts of Iceland could not be colder than his manner toward her. They say, too, that I have given you the truest and deepest love of my heart, and have received nothing in return. Tell me that it is all false, my darling. You do care for me, do you not, Rex? Tell me,” she implored.
“Good heavens!” cried Rex, almost speechless in consternation; “do they dare say such things? I never thought my conduct could give rise to one reproach, one unkind thought.”
“Tell me you do care for me, Rex,” she cried. “I have been almost mad with doubt.”
There was something in the lovely face, in the tender, pleading eyes, and quivering, scarlet mouth, that looked as if it were made for kisses––that Rex would have had to have been something more than mortal man to have resisted her pleading with sighs and tears for his love, and refuse it, especially as she had every reason to expect it, as he had asked her to be his wife. There was such a look of unutterable love on her face it fairly bewildered him. The passion in her voice startled him. What was he to do with this impetuous girl? Rex looked as if he felt exceedingly uncomfortable.
He took her in his arms and kissed her mechanically; he knew that was what she wanted and what she expected him to do.
“This must be my answer, dear,” he said, holding her in a close embrace.
In that brief instant she had torn the daisies from the lapel of his coat with her white, jeweled fingers, tossed them to the earth, and stamped her dainty feet upon them, wishing in the depths of her soul she could crush out all remembrance from his heart of the young girl for whose memory this handsome lover of hers wore these wild blossoms on his breast.
As Rex looked down into her face he missed them, and quickly unclasped his arms from around her with a little cry.